Rufus Martin. He has been with her several times. He is a guest of the
hotel--room No. 410."
"Can you have her apartment and Martin's looked over without exciting
suspicion?"
"I think we can manage it," Banks responded. "Indeed, I think we can
manage to have all the rooms inspected; I have already told the
detective what we suspect, and he has put on an employee's uniform and
with a basket of electric bulbs is now testing the lights in every
occupied room. The moment he finds Mrs. Clephane, or anything that
points to her, he will advise us."
"Good!" said Harleston. "Meanwhile, I'll have another look in Peacock
Alley."
He was aware that he was acting on a pure hunch. He realized that his
theory of Mrs. Clephane's imprisonment in the house was most
inconsistent with the facts. Why did they release her last night, if
they were fearful of her communicating to the French Ambassador the loss
of the letter? And why should they take her again this evening? It was
all unreasonable; yet reason does not prevail against a hunch--even to a
reasoning man, who is also a diplomat.
He sauntered along the gay corridor bowing to those he knew. As he
faced about to return, he saw Madeline Spencer, alone, bearing down upon
him.
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